


Sharing Your Shadow: Orphan

by heavybreathingcat



Series: Sharing Your Shadow [1]
Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Childhood Friends, Alternate Universe - Orphanage, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Body Horror, Character Death, Child Abuse, Childhood Friends, Childhood Trauma, Coming of Age, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Incest, Implied/Referenced Pedophilia, M/M, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Orphanage, Physical Abuse, Pre-Canon, Survival Horror, Unrequited Love, Zane Flynt - Freeform, child grooming
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-01
Updated: 2020-01-28
Packaged: 2020-10-04 12:38:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20471168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heavybreathingcat/pseuds/heavybreathingcat
Summary: Timothy & John become unlikely friends as they learn to survive the horrors of Hyperion’s Hestia’s Boys' Home. Their twisted circumstances takes Timothy on a journey that will eventually lead him to accept an offer he should refuse: become Jack's body double.This fic is the prequel toSharing Your Shadow: Prisoner. It was intended as one fic but I've separated them so you may choose to read the ark that interests you. Otherwise, I encourage you to read both at the same time.On Hiatus until I finish my main epic





	1. The Newcomer

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is the prequel to [Sharing Your Shadow: Prisoner](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20812664/chapters/49471172). It was intended as one fic but I've separated them so you may choose to read the ark that interests you. Otherwise, I encourage you to read both at the same time.
> 
> **Also, please note, this fic is a horror and though its main cast are kids this is a story for mature audiences. Think; Steven Kings IT, Stranger Things, or Telltales The Walking Dead. **
> 
> [AthenasAspis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/agentandromeda/pseuds/AthenasAspis) is my amazing Beta reader. Kudos to her for improving this work in so many ways!

The sounds of a newcomer were a familiar pattern; doors slamming, hushed voices, crying, steps hurrying up the stairs, keys fumbling in a lock, and finally the creek of the dorm door. Lanterns from the hallway pierced the darkness creating the only source of light they would see from curfew to dawn.

Just like everyone else, John pretended to be asleep, and as the carers wandered into the room, he kept his breathing steady and the bed linens close. A smaller figure was between the two adults, head bowed and sniffing loudly. 

They always cried when they were brought in; John was the exception. He was too young to know any better when they dragged him to his bed. The same bed he'd slept in for the past ten years. 

The boy was led to the only patch of floor that wasn't occupied with bunk beds and draws, right in the corner beside John's own bed. He'd broken another boy’s finger to get the corner window and his teeth clenched at the thought of his space being occupied by a weeping brat. 

John closed his eyes and silently cursed a prayer that they would not put the newcomer beside him. The familiar sound of a sleeping bag being set in place told him he wasn't gaining his privacy back anytime soon. A whimper came as the new orphan laid upon the floor. One of the carers bent down and whispered goodnight to the kid, while the other inspected the rest of the dorm.

A moment later, the door shut, taking away the light. 

John's hands curled into the covers as he crept to the edge of his bed and peered over. The boy on the floor was small and pale,  probably younger than himself. The new orphan shook inside the sleeping bag and curled into a small ball. When he whimpered again, John rolled his eyes and turned away.

He would allow the waterworks display for one night. Tomorrow he'd see to it that the kid was moved out of his corner and that the crying stopped.

* * *

Wimpy-Timmy became his name. 

He cried through the night; in fact, he never stopped. 

At breakfast, Timmy kept his head down with tears spilling into his cereal, at yard time he sat in the corner and drew stick figure portraits into the moss, and when the sun set he was first in bed, sobbing into his pillow.

One of the younger boys foolishly tried to complain to a carer, only to return with bruises on his wrists and tears in his eyes. You do not complain, and you do not ask for help. If they wanted wimpy-Timmy to stop crying, then they would take care of it themselves. 

John traded a voucher for commissary to have Timmy moved to the other corner beside the window, and yet the cries could still be heard.

It was late, traffic wasn’t even on the street below when Timmy started again.

John growled and pulled the covers over his head, but the sobs were high pitched and carried throughout the room. He kicked his feet restlessly and buried his face into the pillow, but nothing stopped Timmy's sadness crawling all over him like some dreary melody. 

After the carers had finished their last sweep, he threw off his blanket and paced to the sleeping bag on the floor. John ripped the hood of the bag down, tearing it in the process, and glared upon the small freckled boy.

"Will you stop it!" John hissed and pulled at the bag hoping that Timmy would become as cold as he was. 

"You're sad, we get it, but none of us care, and none of us want to hear it!"

John had two hands on the bag now and began to pull it away. The loud hiccups stirred the other boys to sit up: some even wandered to the end of the bed where Timmy laid. 

Timmy kicked and tried to stop John from taking the sleeping bag, but when another boy – Flynt – joined the fray, they were able to release Timmy from his warm cocoon.

"This is mine," John said, breathing heavily and pulling the bag close to his chest. “Until you learn to sleep with your mouth shut, you sleep cold."

"W-wait!" Timmy sat up and reached out, but another boy whacked him with a pillow.

"Shut up!"

John returned to bed and threw the bag over him. Even if wimpy-Timmy still cried, at least he had the added protection to block out the sound.

* * *

John made sure to return the sleeping bag before the carers unlocked the dorm. Timmy said nothing as he left for breakfast. A cold night's sleep would drain the energy from anyone, and a tired body could not spare the strength to weep. 

Almost every newcomer was broken in this way. Timmy would think they were picking on him, but he was wrong. John couldn't recall a kid who'd come and not spent the first week crying. He'd return the sleeping bag when the tears stopped.

John poked at his beans and regretted asking for a hot meal. He could stomach cat sick over whatever they had served this morning. Sometimes home brand cereal was the safer option. 

Many things were the safer option, but John didn't opt to follow the safe road.

It would be  _ safer _ to not chat back. It would be  _ safer _ to please the warden. It would be  _ safer _ to keep his head down and do what he was told.

They may have broken in Timmy, but the so-called system, Hestia's Boys' Home, was yet to do the same to John.

"John!"

He scowled and flicked a baked bean across the table.

"Eat it." 

"New kid reeks. I'll trade you what I got in commissary to take him back on your side."

"Eat the bean."

John flicked another piece of his breakfast.

"I've got a Reese bar, and a cherry ripe?"

"_Eat. The. Bean._"

McCawley rolled his eyes and picked up the closest baked bean and swallowed it. John sat back in his chair and enjoyed the look of disgust, and submission on the boys face before flicking another bean.

"Nah. wimpy-Timmy stays on your side."

McCawley swore loudly, and the back of a carer’s hand met his neck. He waited until the adult had passed to throw a bean back at John, and left.

McCawley wasn't the only one to raise their grievances about Timmy. Apparently, the kid had a thing for not showering. In fact, he wouldn't take off his PJs and left for breakfast with his uniform stuffed over them. 

John didn't have an issue with this. Until it became his problem. The carers came by more often, dragged from the music, cigarettes and leisure of their office to listen to the complaints. 

Timmy was beginning to smell. 

By the end of the week, a little bird, as the Warden would put it, told her of the situation. John pocketed his freshly acquired Jakobs:Blues into his shirt lining, a reward for ensuring the correct information reached the right ears. The carers had been keeping Timmy's situation under wraps, and when the Warden was left out, an opportunity arose. For John, anyway. 

They took Timmy before curfew, right after dinner. It was easy to take a boy then. Plenty of noise and distractions as crowds wandered back to the dorms or snuck off to the roofs for a smoke. 

John wasn't the only one to notice Timmy's absence; Flynt and his brother joined him; following Timmy's howls and protests down the hall. Curfew wasn't on, so technically they were allowed in the corridors, yet nothing good came from getting between a carer and their work.

John took the lead, with the Flynt twins following close behind, and they silently entered the showers. The water hitting the tiles masked their footsteps as they approached Timmy’s wails of distress. Two carers had a hand around Timmy’s arms while another was struggling to pull his shirt over his head. 

“Get off me!” Timmy kicked and the carer shrieked as blood burst from her nose.

“You silly boy!” A hand quickly met Timmy’s cheek.

He must never have been struck before – lucky him – as Timmy stopped kicking and crying, and became rigid with shock.

“That’s it. Stay nice and still.”

Curiosity was not welcomed in these walls, but John paid no mind to the house rules. He only managed a step forward when Flynt cursed and grabbed his arm.

“Ah, shit, shit, shit,” one of the Flynt twins said and pulled him out of sight into one of the shower cubicles, hiding behind the curtain. 

“What?” John hissed as the other two boys pressed into the corner of the tiled walls. They did not reply and only shook their heads in silent submission.

A loud click of heels revealed the object of the boys’ fear, and John quickly joined them.

"Though showering every day is not a requirement, in my ward I cannot allow basic hygiene to become a throwaway matter." A sharp voice came from behind and John stifled a short cry.

Pointed boots paused in front of the shower curtain, and when 'Granny' spoke again, John and the others pressed as far into the tiled wall as they could.

"Now strip and get in, Timothy."

"N-no." Timmy hiccuped and John bit the inside of his lip. The boys may have broken Timmy in when it came to the dorm rules, but no one gave him a lesson on Granny. The warden was a trial no words or threats could explain: this was something every boy had to learn for themselves. 

Granny tsked, and Timothy wailed. The shower curtain masked all from view, but sound alone was enough to reveal Timmy’s fate. There was a fight: flesh marking flesh, the tear of clothes and the shower intensifying against the cold tiles. 

Timmy cried and kicked, but his protests, even if heard, would go ignored. 

"We need to leave, now," Flynt hissed in John's ear and he agreed, but when, and how?

The carers were no more than a few metres from their cubicle, and so the boys stayed huddled against the tiles. Waiting for the shower to end. 

"Let go of me!" Timmy shouted.

"He bit me!" One of the carers snapped, and there was a loud smack, followed by a cold thud.

Granny shrieked in frustration and silenced followed, save for the water spilling across the floor.

“Serves him right,” a carer huffed, and there were no more complaints from Timmy. 

Flynt had a hand over his own mouth to cover his breathing and John bit his own tongue to silence his fear.

"Just finish the job, then take him to medical. Really, Evans," Granny sighed. The warden turned on her heel, her boots clicking loudly upon the tiles as she left.

John waited until the other carers were finished, and then some, before he dared to pull back the curtain. After checking it was clear, he motioned for the Flynt twins to follow. The two brothers bolted, and instinct told John to do the same. However, he spared a glance over his shoulder as he fled. The pool of water waiting to leave down the clogged drains was pink, the clothes beside it were torn and matted, and some of the tiles across the wall were bent and broken.

John didn't look back again as he ran to his dorm. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First chapter is done! This is my new project and I really hope to hear from you as I move forward. I'm really excited to write more and I hope you're excited to read it.
> 
> FWI: This fic is the prequel to [Shared Broken Shadow: Prisoner](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20812664/chapters/49471172). It was intended as one fic but I've separated them so you may choose to read the ark that interests you. Otherwise, I encourage you to read both at the same time. 
> 
> [AthenasAspis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/agentandromeda/pseuds/AthenasAspis) is my amazing Beta reader. Kudos to her for improving this work in so many ways!


	2. The Brooch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [AthenasAspis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/agentandromeda/pseuds/AthenasAspis) is my amazing Beta reader. Kudos to her for improving this work in so many ways!

John never thought it was possible to fit another bed in the dorm and yet the carers proved him wrong. After a lot of shuffling and a few loud complaints they were able to provide one more bed, meaning one more newcomer. The cot sat where Timmy’s sleeping bag had once rested: facing the end of John’s bed, in the corner closest to the window. 

Gossip spread that the bed was for another newcomer, as wimpy Timmy had not returned since the carers dragged him to the showers. It was not unusual for kids to run off, or disappear in the middle of the night, especially the older kids. However, John did not think that was the case.

He didn’t tell the Flynt twins about what he saw that night. How the water was stained with blood and the tiles broken. Some things were better kept to oneself.

Whoever the bed was for, it’s owner had claimed it when they returned from dinner. No one dared venture to the end of the dorm to see who lay in it. John had made sure of that; his space was his alone and anyone caught sniffing around his end of the dorm was going to endure cigarette burns for a week.

The others may have wanted to see who was in the bed, but John didn’t look because he did not care.

It wasn’t until morning, when the light lit up auburn curls, that John realised it was Timmy in the new bed. 

John stretched and yawned obnoxiously loud, hoping to wake the other boy, but Timmy slept like a dead cat (and John had seen many of those). 

“Oi, breakfast,” John said and whacked his pillow at the end of the bed. “If you’re late we’re all in trouble. So get up.”

Timmy whined and kicked in his bed before very slowly sitting up and rubbing his eyes. He was the last to get up and took even longer making his bed. None of the other boys spoke to him as they got dressed, and most averted their gaze. But John didn’t concern himself with such things as privacy, nor did he care for the scowl Timmy gave him when he caught him watching.

“Don’t stare at me,” Timmy hissed, and John’s lip curled into a grin.

“_ Don’t stare at me _,” Zane mocked and his twin barked with laughter.

The exchange caught the eye of some, but, when John spoke, everyone turned and watched. His voice had a way of gaining the attention of the masses.

“Where’d you go?” he asked, resting two hands on the end of Timmy’s bed, rattling it a little as he spoke.

Everyone’s gaze was now on Timmy.

The boy seemed to shrink under the weight of so many eyes. He slumped his shoulders and fumbled with the weird patch on the front of his shirt. John frowned, realising it was some kind of brooch. He did not recognise the make, but a shiny thing like that had to be worth something.

Timmy didn’t answer, and so John shook the end of the bed again.

“Hey, answer me. Where’d you go?”

“Infirmary.” 

“How come?”

Timmy bowed his head, and his hair fell across his face revealing the neat row of stitches at the side of his head.

“How. Come. You. Were. In. The. Infirmary?” He shook the bed with every word and didn’t stop until the bolts came loose and the end of the frame fell away, causing the entire thing to collapse with Timmy on top.

John roared with laughter and kicked at the broken frame. Some of the boys bolted when they saw the destruction. He didn’t blame them; no one wanted to be caught in the line of fire between a carer and John’s antics. 

Timmy sat upon his broken bed and stared at John, almost thoughtfully, like he was observing a curious creature he’d not seen before. John scowled and gave the bed one last kick before returning to his own. He took his time tucking the corners of his sheets in, watching Timmy out of the corner of his eye.

The shirt Timmy wore was stained and discoloured, and though John wasn’t the cleanest of his dorm mates, he found the sight of Timmy’s self care gross. Worst of all, the shirt stayed on as Timmy pulled his uniform over the top. He finished by tugging at the collar of his tee to hide it under the dress shirt.

It appeared Granny’s lesson had gone unheard. John’s eyes narrowed as he watched the other boy conceal his PJs under his outfit. Was he acting out? Hit on the head too hard? Or just plain stupid?

This was a border planet, John reasoned. Stupid seemed to breed here.

In the end, it appeared the kid was just plain stubborn. 

At the end of the week Timmy was dragged from the mess hall, kicking and biting on his way out. When John and the others were in their dorms, Timmy would return, hair wet, shivering and in a new clean set of PJ’s. This routine carried on for another few weeks. Timmy refused to shower at the allocated time, never took his clothes off, never wore shorts for sports or a t-shirt when hot. He was always in long sleeved clothes, which only became fresh and clean when the carers dragged him away.

It was curfew when Timmy was brought in from his last shower session. He hung between the arms of two carers, feet dragging across the floor. He was placed on his bed and roughly tucked in. After the carers left, John shifted out from under his blankets. Timmy was silent and unmoving; pale lips peeked out of the covers and drew short shallow breaths. The blanket the carers has thrown over him barely covered him, and if he remained unconscious he would surely freeze through the night. 

The carer, Evans had likely taken things too far again. It was easy for a backhand slap to hit the wrong spot and send someone crashing to the floor.

John sat up, and his feet rested on the floor. He intended to go to the boy, but after a cold breeze drafted in, he shivered and withdrew to crawl back under his blanket. 

Timmy would learn. They always did.

At breakfast Timmy wandered in last and sat alone. It amused John greatly that Timmy had unwittingly blessed himself with the shower strike. Newcomers were usually at the bottom of the pecking order but none of the kids wanted to get near him. Stained clothes and body odor was a sure way to keep the bullies at bay. 

John sat across the hall, stirring his cereal as he watched Timmy scoff down his meal. Timmy may have been last to enter the hall but he was always the first to be excused. The carers would reluctantly agree and the boy would jog down the hall and out of sight. 

Timmy’s insignificance allowed him to leave without anyone sparing him a glance, but John noticed. He was compensated well to watch and gather. The right gossip in the right ears meant he’d be eating better for a week or have a smoke to relieve the day. 

It was just like every other morning and Timmy had once again asked a carer to be excused.

“May I be excused as well.” John abruptly stood up and pushed his plate aside.

Evans, made a disgruntled sound under his breath but accepted. 

John regrettably scraped his meal into the bin. It may have tasted like cat piss but it was all he’d eat until dinner. Lunch came out of commissary, and without money to your name you go hungry. Lucky for John, his lunches were paid for with intel, and if Timmy had somewhere to be, then there was something to learn.

However, his stomach didn’t agree: it growled as he watched the last of his meal disappear into the disposal.

John purposely walked out of the hall: fast enough to catch up to Timmy, but not enough to draw attention. He went for the window first, leaning against the glass, he found the yard empty save for a stray cat running along the fence.

If he was sneaking off that’s where he’d be – smoking in the alley behind the yard – but Timmy was not him. 

John checked the showers, the broom cupboards, and each and every toilet cubicle. He was back in the hallway and almost at the dorms when he spotted Timmy. Down on one knee leaning against the bedroom door. He was fiddling with something, but John couldn’t see what. 

He approached slowly, so as to not disturb Timmy's ministrations. John knew which floorboards creaked and where to step, and so he managed to creep up behind Timmy undetected and leann over his shoulder. The younger boy had a small piece of metal in his hand and was twisting it into the lock.

"Holy shit, you can pick locks?" John said, and Timmy leapt off the floor, hitting his head on the doorknob.

"What the hell!" the boy shouted back, blushing red and shoving the small lock pick into his back pocket.

"Lemme see that." John reached out, but Timmy shook his head.

"No way, get away from me." He backed into the door, and John grinned.

"Nowhere to go now, _ Timmy _, gimme the lock pick."

"As if!" Timmy snarled and bunched his hands into fists.

"Cute. You gonna fight? ME?" John laughed, and when Timmy wilted, he sneered. "Didn't think so. Now gimme the damn lock pick."

This was the point where every kid would back down and submit. This should have been that moment: Timmy running off, dropping John's prize at his feet, but Timmy did neither of those things.

"No," the younger boy snarled and kept his hands closed and his back to the door.

"What?!" John snapped, "Come here!"

He launched himself at Timmy, hands fumbling at the boy's jeans trying to get the lock. Timmy kicked and shouted, and John moved to shove a fist in his mouth to stop him calling the carers. If they found them now, no one would have the lock pick.

John landed a hit against Timmy's jaw, and the boy cried out, spraying blood over John's front. He had to pry the piece of metal out of Timmy's hand, scratching at the skin until his fist open. 

"Why…" John panted," do you have to… make this so hard!" He shoved a hand in the boy's hair, yanking his head back. "Give it to me!"

With bloodied fists, victory belonged to John, as it should. The carers were always searching him, and so he hid the lock pick into the lining of his shirt. 

"Do… do you even know how to use that," Timmy said and spat blood on the floor.

John should hit him one last time, to silence that annoying nasally sound he made, but he did not. Instead, his jaw dropped, and he stumbled away from the other boy. 

Timmy had changed, and by the confused and agitated look on the kid's face, he hadn't realised it.

"The hell…" John whispered. 

Half of Timmy's face was shiny, pink and damaged beyond recognition. He looked like one of the plastic dolls John had stolen and held under a lighter. Skin melted, an eye missing, and scarring down to his neck: he looked like some border planet mutant. 

"The hell is wrong with your face?!"

The damage didn't stop there: the burns ran from his neck down, and John suspected they covered half his chest. 

"Stop staring at me!" Timmy snapped, glaring back at John.

Slowly recognition, then fear crept across the younger boys face. He pawed at his chest as if searching for something. The strange brooch he had worn – which John now realise Timmy had never taken off – was on the floor between them.

Panic stretched across Timmy's scarred face as he launched for the shiny device on the ground. He scrambled and curled against his chest, hiding as he reattached it. John stepped away.

He’d never seen anything or anyone with a face like Timmy’s. 

Tears welled in the corners of Timmy's eyes as he glared up at John.

"Leave me alone!" The boy sobbed and began to reattach the brooch to his chest.

When the metal device sat in place a bright light emitted, scanning him head to toe. A moment later, the burned freak was gone, and the same old, pale, freckled faced Timmy returned.

"How?" John whispered and stepped forward. Reaching his hand out and moving gently as if approaching a stray on the street. "What is that thing? How does it work?" 

Timmy stared at the hand, tears still streaming down his cheeks, and for a moment, John thought he'd take it. But when the doors to the hall banged opened Timmy's jaw clenched and he spat at John, scrambling to his feet and running down the hall. 

John did not chase after him and what did he matter, anyways?

He got what he came for. Now all he needed was someone who could pick locks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah so, my anxiety is real bad at the moment and its taking over my life in pretty destructive ways. So, have a chapter while i got hide in a hole for a bit. Hoping to hear from you, I could really use a pep talk :C
> 
> FWI: This fic is the prequel to [Sharing Your Shadow: Prisoner](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20812664/chapters/49471172). It was intended as one fic but I've separated them so you may choose to read the ark that interests you. Otherwise, I encourage you to read both at the same time. 
> 
> [AthenasAspis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/agentandromeda/pseuds/AthenasAspis) is my amazing Beta reader. Kudos to her for improving this work in so many ways!


	3. The Showers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [AthenasAspis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/agentandromeda/pseuds/AthenasAspis) is my amazing Beta reader. Kudos to her for improving this work in so many ways!
> 
> ** Please Note: This fic is still a WIP and so as I've planned and written more I've had to add new tags. I've also REMOVED archive warnings and have selected 'chose not to warn.' **

John told no one what he saw and as the days went by his own silence baffled him.

A ruined face like that? Gold mine.

If the other boys knew what he had seen then Timmy would remain at the bottom of the pecking order for the rest of his life, and yet, John did not reveal the scarred boy’s secret. It wasn’t out of pity, and surely not out of kindness. No, John kept Timmy’s secret because if the brooch was concealing his appearance then it was valuable. The tech within, the knowledge of designing such a thing, had greater appeal than gaining a few laughs and kicks.

That didn’t stop Timmy from thinking he was going to be outed at any moment. He flinched, and practically yelped with every sudden move John made.

It was hilarious, and that alone kept John silent.

But his cheer was short lived. He’d not finished breakfast when Evans kicked his shin under the table. 

John bit down on his food to smother his cry. None of the other boys noticed: they never did.

Evans stood behind and shadowed the fluorescent lights above.

“Warden Graneta wishes to see you before she departs.”

Evans did not lean over to deliver the message, and spoke just loud enough for John to hear. His summons with Granny were inconspicuous as was everything with the damn woman. 

John gave the tiniest nod of his head indicating he heard. 

He didn’t finish the rest of his meal.

His stomach rolled and twisted as the baked beans slid into the disposal; he’d regret that later.

Evans tailed him out of the mess hall, keeping his distance so not to appear together, but close enough to ensure John went where he was supposed to go. When they were out of sight he caught up.

“The Warden has a business matter to address off planet. In the meantime, she’s charged me with overseeing Hestia.”

“How long were you on your knees to earn that privilege?”

The talkback came too fast and John realised that if the Warden was leaving, then he shouldn’t push his luck. But thankfully his comment merely earned him a harsh glare and nothing more.

“The Warden is very busy, so do not waste her time with childhood gossip and fatuous details.”

“Yes, sir.”

It was by sheer dumb luck that earlier in the day John had caught a carer flash an echo-recorder from the end of the hall. It was only for a moment, but from the frigid stare upon the womans face, John knew he had something worth sharing. If someone was spying within these walls, and by extension, Hyperion’s walls then the Warden would want to hear of it. 

Despite knowing he had something to trade, it was never an easy journey to her office. Evans was like a leech, latching on and hoping for a chance to grace the Warden’s presence. John would try to shake him off, explain he could take the last flight of stairs to her office on his own but he would insist.

Evans pushed forward and knocked on the door and waited.

John knew what to expect: Evans would fumble his words, make a fool of himself and briskly see himself out. Meanwhile, the Warden would welcome with a beaming smile and cup his cheek, and the tenderness would remain as long as he provided.

Timmy was lucky John had something to trade. Otherwise he’d be selling the kid out with his lockpick misadventures.

Granny was thrilled with the story he shared of the carer and her echo and he left her office with a new pack of Jakobs. When he climbed into bed, he heard whispers from the other boys that the new carer had been dragged off.

John thought no more of the woman with the echo recorder and closed his eyes.

* * *

John didn’t dream, and he’d long become friends with those who lurked in the night, and so, he should not have woken with a racing heart and sweat on his chest. His cry was smothered with a hand, and he was forced back into the pillows.

“The lock pick,” a voice, much like his own — dark and cruel — hissed from above. 

John blinked, hoping to see who loomed above him in the darkness. When the voice spoke again, he recognised the nasally sound.

He tried to tell Timmy to piss off, but the other boy was on his feet and had two hands pressed to his jaw.

“Give it back.” 

A fist twisted in John’s hair yanking at it and pulling handfuls out. Terror sprung within his chest, and for a moment John could not fight back. It had been a long time since any one came for him after dark. The memories of his drunken grief stricken mother swept in; sometimes it was a punch in the gut or a smashed bottled against the bed head. Violence had once waited for him in the early hours of the morning, but John had learned to bury it.

Finally, his body responded.

He bit Timmy and the other boy shrieked. He must have drawn blood as there was a bitter taste in his mouth. John launched for Timmy and the two boys landed on the floor and woke half the dorm. 

“Shut it! They will hear you!” John hissed and tried to smother Timmy’s face with his hand.

“I don’t care anymore!”

Timmy kicked and clocked John in the jaw and his cry woke the other half of the dorm.

“You think this is hard!? Living here?!” John landed a punch to Timmy’s throat and the kid coughed and sputtered. “This is nothing!” 

He went for the brooch on Timmy’s chest but pale fingers dug in and twisted the skin, stopping him from prying it away. 

“I bet you had the good life before coming here! Stuck up little shit.”

John hit him again and Timmy’s grip loosened.

“Why don’t you show everyone what you _ really _ look like? You freak.”

Timmy’s eyes sprang wide and he shook his head: paling further than John thought possible. 

“That’s it!” A loud shriek came from the doorway and a moment later the lights switched on. “Every one UP!” Evans ordered and slammed his fist against the wall, ensuring no one could sleep through the noise.

No one dared pretended to be asleep, nor complain. The boys started to shift to the edge of their beds and silently pushed their feet into their slippers.

“UP, UP, UP,” Evans yelled as he walked down the dorm: hitting every bed frame with the back of their glove. 

John pushed Timmy away and leapt to his feet. He’d escaped Evan’s ‘discipline’ and practises through the protection of Granny, but the scars on his back were hard to forget. Timmy was still yet to learn and took his time getting up off the ground. 

“You’re all so keen to be up and awake, so everyone, let’s hit the showers. Breakfast starts in an hour!”

“It’s 4 in the bloody morning!” Zane snapped back and was grabbed by the ear and thrown to the middle of the room. His twin, Harvey, ran to his side and helped him up.

“You can be first in! Off you go!” Evans ordered while his hand swung dangerously close to Harvey’s face. 

The rest of the kids followed, but Timothy scrambled under his bed. If he hoped to escape Evans’ wrath then he was wrong.

John bent down and grabbed Timmy’s arm, tugging him back out.

“It will be worse if you don’t go. Trust me.”

Timmy’s head shook feverishly.

“I can’t. You _ know _ I can’t. I don’t want them to see.”

John merely shrugged.

“You’ll make it worse for all of us.”

When Timmy refused to come out, John stood up.

“Oi, this one is hiding under here.” John shouted at Evan’s and pointed to Timmy’s bed.

“Fuck you!” Timmy hissed and John barked with laughter. He’d not expected so much bite from such a little twerp.

“See you in the showers!” John slapped the bed before grabbing his towel and following after the Flynts. 

* * *

The showers were often a noisy place, not from the water pipes themselves, but from the boys talking, cheering, gossiping about the day to come. 

It had never been this silent before. 

Though Evans and the other carers were not in their line of sight, the very fact they were there made John turn his back as he undressed. The high he'd felt from beating and outing Timmy was long gone. Every hair on his body stood on end, and not even the hot steam could stop him shaking. He curled his hands into fists and bit his tongue.

He was not a coward.

Timmy was physically dragged in my Evan's. The boy kicked and screamed and even bit him, but when he was thrown to the cold tiles, he fell silent.

"No one leaves until Timothy here learns to shower with the rest of you."

There was an audible groan, and one of the boys yelled at Timmy to hurry up. The carers ordered silence.

"Go on," Evan's said, but his voice held no warmth or support.

Timmy picked himself off the floor, but he did not take another step.

"Just get in the shower!" One of the Flynts snapped, "I'm freezing!" 

Few of the other boys joined him in protest.

Timmy blinked away tears as he leaned against the lockers. It was a long and slow process to watch, and _ yeah _, John admitted to himself, it was weird getting nude with everyone else at first. Sometimes the new kids would shower with their boxers on for the first few days, but in Timmy's case, he hadn't showered with them in weeks. 

Most of the boys were averting their eyes, turning their attention to their laps, or to each other. But John did not care for Timmy’s privacy, or for any one's in fact. 

Timmy pulled down his pants first, and then his underwear: a weird choice for someone wanting to conceal his body. 

It was his shirt that he clutched too and refused to remove.

"Let's move it," Evans stepped forward, and Timmy shook his head. Half naked and vulnerable with an entire audience to humiliate him. 

"You will get in that shower, or I'm taking you straight to Warden Graneta!"

_ Well, that's a lie_, John thought. The Warden left for Hyperion HQ this morning. 

Regardless, Timmy was yet to learn what happened when you upset the Warden. The wounds healing on his head should be the least of his worries. 

Timmy bit his lip, and out of all the places he could have chosen to stare, he looked to John. 

John's eyes widen, he gazed back at pale green eyes who looked to him for survival. Why? John didn't know. It wasn't long ago that they were beating each other on the floor.

John couldn't help him, even if he wanted to. He shook his head, the tiniest motion, a silent response.

_ 'Don't do it, don't give them a reason.' _

Timmy accepted his fate, broke eye contact and began to fumbled with the brooch upon his shirt. There would be nowhere to attach it after he took off his shirt, but John knew Evans would never let him shower with it on. Timmy's pale, freckled hands gripped the hem of his shirt, and as he slowly began to pull it up and over his head, there was an audible gasp from one of the boys, a hiss of whispers, before Evans ordered them silent. 

The cloaking device fell away, revealing Timmy’s true appearance.

His top half of his body, from his collar bone down to his belly button was covered in scars. John knew what to expect for his face, but he hadn't known how far the damage went. All of his skin was shiny, and pink, and in some places, melted together.

Timmy hugged his arms across his chest, but it did little to hide his ruined body. 

"Go on," Evans sneered. "Get into the shower."

Slowly, Timmy ventured forward and began to turn the taps on. The whispers grew louder as Timmy waited for the water to turn warm. The burns of his back were the worst, they ran deep and twisted into his skin.

When Timmy finally stood under the rush of water, with soap in hand, Evans excused them all. There was a stampede of feet for the door, followed by the carers demanding they slow down.

Only John remained.

Timmy sobbed loudly under the shower. He ran a hand through his hair, tracing the stitches on the back of his scalp. John frowned. The weird brooch hadn't hidden the marks the carers inflicted, only the old scars upon his flesh.

"Hey!" John shouted.

Timmy turned and glared at him from under the stream of water.

"Go away."

"You mind if I look at this?" John picked up Timmy's brooch and gave it a shake.

"Drop it, you asshole!" He ran from the shower with soap and suds still dripping off his shoulders. Timmy almost slipped on the tiles, and John laughed at the sight of the naked defenceless kid running to tackle him.

He could not ignore the fact that Tiimmy had fight. 

"So how does it work?" John asked, at the same time shoved a hand forward, blocking Timothy from reaching him.

"Give it back."

"Why? Everyone knows what you look like now, why hide?"

Timmy bared his teeth and swung a hand forward, scrapping John's arm.

"Ouch, kitten, you're a little feral ain't you?" 

With his missing eye, and burned skin, he really did look like he belonged in a cage. 

"Give it back."

John raised his arm and kept the brooch high above him. 

"I think I'll keep it."

Timmy scoffed, and John's eyes narrowed at the sudden spark of confidence.

"You wouldn't know how to use it."

"Oh yeah –"

John never finished his reply. The hand that struck him threw him to the ground. His head hit the corner of the change room bench, and for a moment, the world went black. 

He gasped for air and blindly groped at the ground.

Above him a voice sneered: "That's enough, _ John._"

Something pressed into his back and pinned him to the floor. Panic flooded his mind. He couldn’t move, and as he wheezed and struggled to draw breath his heart ached. It couldn’t keep up with the adrenaline. 

Off in the distance Timmy yelled: “Get off him!” 

John blinked and tried to focus his vision to reach out but he couldn’t. 

“Don’t be taking things that are not yours.” Evans drawled and dug the heel of his shoe deeper into his spine.

Slowly the world came back into focus. Evans stood over him, brooch in hand, while Timmy stood on the sidelines. The kid was as pale as the white tiles, and John wouldn’t blame him if he ran.

Evan’s leant down and the mans weight shifted into John’s back. He bit his lip to stop himself from crying out: the weight was too much. 

“Of course, the moment the Warden is out, you think the world is yours to do as you please." Evans hissed above his ear.

"Fuck you," John spat and no sooner had the words left his mouth. Evans picked him up by the back of his hair and threw him into the lockers.

John's ears rang and somewhere in the distance Timmy continued to yell. 

“How was today's meeting? Was she _ satisfied _?” Evans' stale breath was foul and inescapable. His hand wrapped in John's hair and held him so high, his feet barely scraped the ground.

"Does she call you Johnny when you're alone?" Evans whispered. "Or is it Jack? Don't tell me she's too busy lost in those pretty eyes of yours."

"Are you jealous?" John quipped back; he couldn't help it.

He was smashed back into the locker and this time he cried out: his heart ached, it could not keep up.

“Like I said, _ John_, you shouldn’t take things that aren’t yours”

The man’s gaze was out of focus, his expression of loathing. As if he could not see a child in front of him, only a threat.

"Stop it!" Timmy shrieked and Evans’ hand loosen. "I said he could look at it! He didn't take it!"

John took Evans' confusion as his opportunity and squirmed free: biting the hand that had held him in the process.

"You little shits!" Evans kicked and at the same moment, dropped the brooch. Timmy scooped it up, and John ran to him.

"Go, go, go!" He grabbed Timmy – who was still stark naked – and pushed him towards the exit. 

They ran side by side over wet tiles through the doors. John only looked back when they were at the end of the hall. Evans had followed, but he remained at the entrance to the showers. 

Like a predator, he would not attack once they were under the protection of the rest of the herd. They raced back into the dorms. They were met with confused stares and a jipe from one of the Flynts but John didn’t care. He changed and fled into the masses, hiding himself among his peers and heeded towards breakfast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for your warm and positive responses to this fic so far. You guys are the best. Thanks for supporting me during this rough time in my life. I'll spare you the details. 
> 
> Comments are very much appreciated X 
> 
>   
**I have a [Twitter @catbreathing](https://twitter.com/CatBreathing) and I'm always excited to chat on my Tumblr ([heavybreathingcatt](http://heavybreathingcatt.tumblr.com/)).**
> 
>   
FWI: This fic is the prequel to [Sharing Your Shadow: Prisoner](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20812664/chapters/49471172). It was intended as one fic but I've separated them so you may choose to read the ark that interests you. Otherwise, I encourage you to read both at the same time. 
> 
> [AthenasAspis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/agentandromeda/pseuds/AthenasAspis) is my amazing Beta reader. Kudos to her for improving this work in so many ways!


	4. The Alley

The rumours about Timmy’s scars ran rampant. Theories sprang up: he was an arsonist, a mutant baby, an alien, or an escaped science experiment. John knew the truth would be boring and predictable.

He’d made a bet with one of the Flynts that it was a house fire, and he made another bet with the other twin that it was a car accident. Problem was, John had trouble telling the two brothers apart. They were identical, down to the fluff starting to grow on their chins. 

Luckily, all this talk of Timmy and his scars meant there was little discussion regarding John’s black eye. It had turned a dark yellow-green and the skin above his brow was split from where his head had hit the benches. 

Evans took pride in the damage he caused, smiling brightly whenever they passed in the hall. 

The Warden hadn’t returned from Hyperion HQ, and Evans had been betting on that. Granny would’ve demanded how he got hurt, and John would have had to lie. He’d throw another kid under the bus before he’d put the blame on Evans. The deranged carer would only make his life more miserable and Hyperion would never fire him. You couldn’t be fired from Hestias’ boys home, not in the traditional sense any way.

John didn’t tell the Flynt twins either. Only Timmy knew what happened in the showers. 

And Timmy? The kid wasn’t avoiding him per say, but it seemed their gazes met less, or that he was never around. John didn’t know why this bothered him. He spared a moment to look for him in the yard before sneaking off with the twins out back. 

One of the Flynt passed him his cigarette (was it Zane?) and John gladly finished it off.

He nearly coughed but he managed to smother the urge with a kick of his foot to the ground. He’d never really got used to them, but they did make for a great currency. 

“Who’d you sell out for the Jacobs?” Harvey(?) asked and pocketed his smoke without lighting it.

“Don’t worry, it wasn’t one of us,” John scoffed.

“Was it that carer lady? The one they dragged off?”

John winked but said nothing. 

“Yeah, well,” Harvey started cautiously, “don’t you ever let it come back to us.”   
  


Zane agreed; the hypocrite. John curled his hands into fists and told them to fuck off. The two of them would gladly take from the hand that fed them, his hand, and all John asked for was their loyalty.   
  


The two Flynts left the alley and crawled back under the wire fence and into the yard.

Every so often John needed to remind himself where he was. This was a border planet; friends, family and loyalty would not come to him here. His own mother saw to that when she dumped him here.

John lit another smoke. He should conserve them but he could not shake the irritation from the two twins.

The wire fence rattled again and John cursed loudly.

“I said, piss off both of you.”

He picked up a stone and was ready to chuck it at the two twins when a familiar mop of auburn hair made him drop his aim. Timmy was wriggling through the bent part of the fence.

“Wimpy Timmy,” John drawled and took delight in Timmy’s sudden gasp. “Scram, little kitten.”

The kid was half way through. He glanced over his shoulder and then back to John, as if guessing his chances with the carers in the yard or him. Evans was on guard duty so John didn’t think anything of it when Timmy chose him.

“Seriously, piss off.” John stood over him but Timothy merely stood up and stared up at him.

“Why?”

“Why?!” John spluttered and considered going for the switchblade hidden in the cuffs of his pants.

Timothy just shrugged. 

“Yeah. Why? I can be here too.”

John glared at the kid for a moment, and then looked over his shoulder. There was no one else around to see the two of them alone, so John permitted the kids presence. 

“Didn’t take you for a rule breaker, Timmy, but here you are sneaking off a second time. Hmmm? Got another lock pick for me this time.”

“Thats funny,” Timmy said and crossed his arms. “You’re a fan of doing things a second time too.”

“What?”

“You stole something of mine that you’re too stupid to use. Twice now.”

“Wha-” John stammered.

“Can’t use a lockpick and can’t use the digi-cloaking-tech. Why don’t you steal something your brain can figure out for once.”

John bit his tongue so hard he tasted iron. He could not launch himself at the kid as the noise would draw the attention of the carers resulting in their little escape route would be padlocked up. The wide grin on Timmy’s face suggested that he knew this too. 

Timmy pushed past, with that stupid confident smile on his face.

“Where are you off to?” John hissed and grabbed his arm. “If you get caught you’ll get us all in trouble.”

“So you always say.” Timmy shrugged him off. “Don’t worry. I’m not going far.” He paused and toed his shoe to the ground. ”You can come… if you want.”

“Come?” John blurted out, but Timmy was already wandering off down the alley.

He walked with purpose and John suspected this was not Timmy’s first adventure outside  Hestia’s walls.

The kid was a puzzle John couldn't piece together. Timmy stood up to the carers, he fought back, he  _ fought _ him, and then as quick as all that strength and fight came, it would disappear. Leaving behind a sobbing mess of an orphan, just like the rest of them.

Perhaps there was no bigger picture with Timmy? Maybe he did just have a few pieces missing. 

John decided to follow. Curiosity was always putting him in trouble, but it wasn’t a habit he planned on stopping. 

“Where your poses?” Timmy said and glanced over his shoulder, as if making sure John was still following. 

“Poses?”

“Your friends.”

“Pfft.” John shoved his hands in his pockets. “I dunno.”

Timmy didn’t press him further, instead he bent down and shoved a small crate away revealing a crawl space. John leaned over; the tunnel wasn’t long — only a few metres — and passed under the corridor that connected the two wards above them. On the other side was the alley behind C ward.

“I thought this passage was closed off?” John said and eyed the dark and narrow walls.

Timmy shrugged.

They weren’t allowed anywhere near C ward. It was the division for the older boys: sixteen and over, and only a select few got to live there. The rest of the kids were kicked out of Hestia at sixteen. To Hyperion, you were of legal age by then. 

“I am not crawling through that.” John stood up and crossed his arms. 

Timmy raised a curious brow at him.

“You’re afraid of getting dirty?”

Timmy clearly had no issue with getting filthy — there were stains all over his collar — but that was not John’s concern. The space was too small, the walls too close together. What if he got stuck? John’s heart kicked in his chest and he took a sudden breath. He’d been locked away too many times before. The thin beam of light under the cupboard door was the only thing to let him know morning had come. His mother kept him there when she was on one of her binges, for his own good she would say.

“Hey?” Timmy called to him. His brow was pressed with concern, mushing all the freckles on his forehead into one brown lump.   
  


John’s mind had wandered too far, and the kid had taken notice.

“Whatever! Lets go.” John shoved Timmy aside and bent down to the crawl space.

He hadn’t been in the alley around C ward in so long. It was the one rebellion the Warden would not excuse.

The walls were drenched in slime and other foul things. John screwed his nose up: he was sure he just crawled through cat piss. His knees scraped along gravel, but if Timmy wasn’t complaining then neither would he. It wasn’t the worst thing he’d crawled through, but he swore it was becoming narrower, and that light on the other side was growing dark. 

He couldn’t withhold a small gasp of air as he finally made it on the other side. John scrambled to his feet and brushed himself down. His pants were filthy as were his hands. Timmy came out and beamed, as if he’d just enjoyed a car ride through the countryside, or whatever people do for a nice outing. 

“Come on.” Timmy bounce to his feet and waved for John to follow. He jogged down the alley and disappeared around the corner. 

John rolled his eyes and followed.

At the end of the alley, beside a large dumpster and a number of crates, squatted Timmy. There were four, no five kittens running around his legs while a large regal orange cat sat upon the highest crate, basking in the sun.

“We came here for cats?!” John snapped and the ears of the mum cat flicked backwards.

“Um, yeah?” Timmy said and picked up the nearest kitten and placed it on his lap.

“This is so stupid.”

“Then leave.” Timmy dangled a piece of string in front of a ginger kitten.“I’m staying here.”

But John did not leave. He only needed to think of the tunnel for his feet to cement in place. He would linger, for now.

“They’re strays right? How come they’re not afraid of you,” John asked and slowly approached.

“Probably because I smell like garbage. You know, the not showering thing?”

John chuckled and he didn't miss how Timmy’s face lit up when he laughed.

“About the showers…” Timmy’s voice drew shy and he kept his face hidden under his fringe.

“What about it?” John couldn’t withhold the tension in his voice.  It had been a long time since he’d been struck. The Warden saw to it that he was (mostly) left alone, but Evans took every opportunity to get a hit or kick in.  Timmy saw something he shouldn’t have. He saw John vulnerable.

“How's your head, are you ok?” Timmy looked up at him, concern falling across his face. 

“What? – of course!” John snapped. “Evans has his nose so far up the Warden’s ass that when she leaves he doesn’t know what to do with himself.” He kicked at the ground, unearthing a small stone. “And that means he has more time to put his attention on us.”

“You mean on you.”

“Drop it,” John snapped and picked up the unearthed stone and held it above his head.

Timmy gave him a glare and turned his attention back to the cats. 

“I just asked if you were ok,” he muttered. 

“Ask again and i’ll shove this rock where your missing eye is.” 

Timothy frowned, but did not appear scared. 

“Evans’ is a nobody and I can handle him.” John dropped the stone to pull out the switchblade from the hidden compartment in the hem of his pants. “I have this now.”

The switch blade had a dark jarrah handle with a flattened stud, the blade was a little worn, but it would serve its purpose. Normally such a piece of contraband would draw wide eyes, but not from Timmy. John couldn’t deny the dissatisfaction he felt from the kid’s lack of a reaction.

Instead, the smaller boy kept his focus on the ginger kitten on his lap.

“Why the hell am I even hanging with a weirdo like you. I mean, have you seen your fricken face!?” John scoffed.

“Have you seen yours?”

John hit him.

The boy cried out and clenched his jaw, tears broke across his eyes but he did not fight back. John breathed heavily and pulled away. Timmy had stood up for him in the showers, John hadn’t forgotten that, but that would not earn him any favours if he fought back.

Timothy curled his hands into fits but remained on the ground.

“Know your place,” John growled and backed away.

Timmy scowled at him and the tears left as quickly as they came.

“I just wanted to show you something cool,” he said and turned away from him.

John pocketed his switchblade and left the alley. 

* * *

Timothy’s bruised eye didn’t turn as green as John’s own, but there was no mistaking the yellow tinge to the boys forehead. It was strange. John figured the brooch would hide the bruising, but just like the stitches Timmy had on his head, they too did not disappear.

John had no intention of apologising. Timmy just has to learn how things ran at Hestia.

So it surprised him that Timmy did not avoid him, and went as far as joining the other boys in the showers. 

“Boyo! Lemme see your eye, I wanna know if I can see your brain through that hole!” Zane joked and threw a bar of soap at Timmy.

“Shut it,” Harvey hissed and looked over his shoulder. 

Evans’ was watching them again. He insisted that it was to ensure Timothy showered, and because of that, the kid now had a target on his back. No one wanted to be watched by a carer while showering, not even someone who lacked all modesty like Zane. 

Timmy’s scarred face was a mess when he scowled, but he never fought back with the other kids. It was weird; John seemed to be the exception. Timmy had plenty of lip and chatback to give when they were alone. 

John left the shower and deliberately made his way around the benches as far from Evans. The Warden still hadn’t returned from Hyperion and so the man was taking every opportunity to be in close proximity to John. 

Like Timmy, John had a target on his back, and from what he’d gathered it had been there long before he’d been dumped at Hestia. The man loathed the sight of him and if given the chance John was sure he’d scar up his face just like Timmy’s.

Timmy was already changing when John dried his hair. The moment the brooch was clipped to his chest Timmy changed back into his scar free self, two eyes and all. 

“Can that thing make you look like anyone?” John blurted out. 

Timmy looked around, as if checking to see if John was talking to someone else.

“Yes. I’m talking to you.” John said and wrapped his towel over his hips. “How’d you get something like that?”

“Why are you talking to me?” Timmy leaned in and whispered. 

“Would you rather I hit you again?”

Timmy shook his head, but did not flinch.

John checked to see if they were alone before stepping closer. 

“Can… can I look at it later?” He asked and found himself using a voice that didn’t sound like his own.

“Um… maybe,” Timmy said, and fiddled with the brooch.

However, John’s eager reply was interrupted, and he froze. 

“ _ John _ .” Evans drawled and approached. “Are you playing nice?”

A violent shiver crawled up John’s spine, but he did not move. Evans had crept up, and loomed above the two of them. The change room bench was the only thing between them, the very one John had been thrown against earlier in the week. 

“Answer me. Are you being a good lad?” He asked and arched a thick dark brow.

“I am, sir.” John answered through gritted teeth. Which was the kindest reply he could offer. He simply did not have the energy to come up with a second round of lies for another black eye. 

“Is this true, Timothy?”

Timmy did something that surprised John and shocked Evans. He removed the brooch and shoved it into John’s hand. The scars reappeared all over Timmy’s face, as did his empty eye socket. What John hadn’t been prepared for was the fact that the scars were even worse when he smiled. He looked up at John, beaming and passed him the brooch. John gingerly took it.

“I’m explaining how my digi-cloaking device works, sir,” Timmy said brightly.

“Are you now?” Evan’s voice was like a tightly wound spring. Tightening further as the situation did not eventuate with his intended consequences. 

John took that as his cue to leave. 

“Come on.” He grabbed his clothes and pushed Timmy towards the exit.

John got changed in the dorm and Timmy reattached the brooch: Returning to his freckled face state. 

“I’m going  _ out back _ again at lunch, if you want to come.” Timothy said and approached while practically bouncing on the balls of his feet. 

John couldn’t shake the feeling that Timmy was a dumb puppy. A puppy who came back for a treat even after its owner had beat it with a belt.

John didn’t understand why. He’d hit the kid three times now, stolen his sleeping bag and lockpick, outed him to Evans for hiding under the bed, and worse of all snitched on him to the Warden for not showering. The scars on his head were still healing and still, Timmy came back.

“Maybe later,” he said and punched Timmy in the arm. He expected Timmy to move out of the way to soften the hit, but he didn’t.

If this is what loyalty was then John was intrigued.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and your support are very much appreciated Xxx I love hearing from you <3
> 
> I have a **[Twitter @catbreathing](https://twitter.com/CatBreathing) and I'm always excited to chat on my **Tumblr ([heavybreathingcatt](http://heavybreathingcatt.tumblr.com/)).****
> 
> **   
**  
FWI: This fic is the prequel to [Sharing Your Shadow: Prisoner](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20812664/chapters/49471172). It was intended as one fic but I've separated them so you may choose to read the ark that interests you. Otherwise, I encourage you to read both at the same time. 
> 
> **[AthenasAspis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/agentandromeda/pseuds/AthenasAspis) is my amazing Beta reader. Kudos to her for improving this work in so many ways!**


	5. The Apology

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **[AthenasAspis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/agentandromeda/pseuds/AthenasAspis) is my amazing Beta reader. Kudos to her for improving this work in so many ways!**

John waited a week before seeking out Timmy. He saw no benefit in blindly following the kid to visit cats every day, and the last thing he wanted was for Timmy to assume it meant anything. When John finally did emerge from the tunnel, Timmy practically glowed.

"You came!" The other boy hurriedly stood up, practically bouncing on his feet. 

John's lip curled at the sudden movement. Had the kid honestly thought to run and greet him?

"Um, hey, look." Timmy quickly changed the subject by gesturing to the kittens at his feet. "They've grown so much." 

"Uh-huh," John said casually and sat on the highest crate, intent on keeping his distance from the flea-ridden fur balls.

He pulled out his lighter and pack of Jakobs. Cupping his hands, he lit the cigarette and took a deep inhale. 

Timothy untied one of his shoelaces and dangled it back and forth for the ginger kitten to chase.

The kid had a naiveté to him that John couldn't place. No one who came to Hestia was innocent, and yet Timothy acted as if he was playing on the grass surrounded by a white picket fence. 

John flicked the lighter on and off rhythmically, enjoying the sound as the small flame sprang to life.

When John lit the lighter again, Timmy twitched and turned his back. John broke into a cruel smile. He flicked the latch on the small silver canister again and brought the flame forth.

"Will you stop that." Timmy glared at the flame in John's hand.

"Why?" He eyed Timmy carefully: he didn’t miss the anxiety on the boy's face.

Timmy ignored him and returned to dangling the shoelace for the ginger kitten. It was the largest out of the four and the most interested in Timmy. It was likely the only thing in all of Hestia that had any interest in him. 

"So," John drawled and slid off the crate. "How come I can see those stitches on your head but not the scars?" 

The wound still hadn't healed, presumably from when Evans had thrown Timothy into a shower wall. 

Timmy stared at him, puzzled for a moment until John jabbed a finger into the side of his head.

"Ow," the other boy recoiled, and the cat he'd been patting jumped off his lap. 

Timmy appeared annoyed at losing his furry companion, but John didn't care.

He asked again: "The stitches. Why won't they disappear like the scars?"

"It doesn't work like that."

"How does it work,  _ Timmy _ ."

But Timmy didn't reply. Instead, he beckoned the mother cat to jump down and join them for a pat.

"I prefer Timothy," he said, still ignoring John's previous question.

"No one goes by first names here."

Timmy's eyes narrowed, and he stopped petting the cat.

"But you do?"

"Yeah, well, I'm not like everyone else."

Timmy rolled his eyes and John pinched the end of his cigarette, nearly snapping it in half at Timmy's flippant dismissal.

The other boys rarely chatted back, and yet, as quickly as Timothy's teeth were shown, the hackles would lower, and he would revert to the small child that he was. 

John threw his busted smoke to the ground and kicked it out. He fumbled inside his pockets searching for a cigarette he knew he didn't have, while Timothy waved the makeshift toy around.

He thought back on what Timothy had said, how everyone called him John, and he couldn't recall a time when his last name — Summers — was ever used. Not that it mattered. It was his mother's name. As for his father, John had never seen a photo of him, least of all a last name. The only details he had of the man were the little trickles of information the Warden offered him.

His mother simply told him was that his name was Jack and never spoke another word of him. 

"So, what's your last name?" John asked with a huff: he was bitter from thinking of his father.

"Lawrence," Timothy mumbled.

John scoffed, "Lawrence?"

" _ Don't _ ," Timmy warned.

"Don't what?"

"Don't make up a dumb nickname to go with it."

"I won't. Timmy gives me more than enough to work with. Whimpy Timpy, Timmy tams, dim Tim, Timmy–"

" _ Johnny boy. _ " 

"Alright," John snapped and crossed his arms. "You can just be Timmy."

"Timothy."

"Fine. _Timothy_."

Through their arguing, he hadn't noticed the approaching kitten and flinched, almost kicking the little thing off his leg. The small grey one with bright blue sapphire eyes tried to climb up his pants. John glanced down the alley, ensuring there wasn't another soul around before sitting down beside Timothy and picking up the small cat.

"That one likes you," Timothy said brightly and picked up the large ginger kitten. "I think I like this one best."

"Uh-huh." John feigned boredom and nudged the furball away. The kitten swiped at his chest and tried to claw its way up to his shoulders.

John pried it away, its paws desperately trying to cling to the thin material of his shirt.

"Get off me, you little runt."

He held up the kitten, watching it struggle out of his grasp. John reasoned he should put the fluff ball down, but he did not, instead, he held on a little tighter. He wondered if this is how the Warden saw him, a small plaything to squeeze when it became too annoying.

The kitten started to cry, but John didn't let it go.

"Hey!" Timothy hit him in the shoulder and John blinked dropping the cat at its side. The kitten leapt away to the safety of its mother.

"What the hell is wrong with you?!" Timothy said and stood between him and the rest of the cats.

"Nothing," John countered and got up. "It was just being annoying, who gives?"

Timothy glared at him for a long few seconds, and when he spoke, John couldn't make sense of his tone.

"You're mean."

John's hands twitched before curling into tight fists.

"Whatever.' He towered over the younger boy. "I don't want to hang with you and your dumbass cats anyway."

John left Timmy and his litter of mongrels without looking back. 

* * *

Timothy was slowing building his courage to shower with the other boys, but every few days, the staring became too much, and so he would sneak off and shower when everyone was at lunch. It meant he didn't eat, but at least he had privacy.

Not today.

Someone sniffed loudly, and their broken voice rang through the empty corridors of lockers.

"Hello?" Timothy called, and wandered past the benches, searching for the owner of the voice.

"The hell are you doing here!? Piss off."

Recognising the sharp and irritated voice, Timothy halted his approach: It was John.

He twisted the towel over in his hands. Should he let him know he was there? John made another noise that sounded a lot like a cry. 

Timothy turned the corner and found John leaning over the bathroom sink. He hurriedly splashed his face and turned off the taps, but Timothy saw the tears before they were washed away.

He said nothing of it, more concerned with the blood swirling down the drain and dripping off John's chin.

Timothy didn't need to ask, as John freely offered him a one-word explanation: "Evans."

John wiped a bloodied hand over his shirt and cocked his chin up. He always tried so desperately to be cool, and Timothy wished he would just act like himself for once. 

"So," Timothy started cautiously, not wanting to drive John away. "What did Evan's do?"

"He found the switchblade on me, right before lunch."

"How?"

"How do you think?!" John snarled and came forward. "Never done a cough and squat?"

"A cough and what?" Timothy recoiled and screwed his nose up at the mere thought of having to do anything while squatting.

“A drug and contraband search, you idiot.” John made an irritated sound and shook his head. "Does anything bad ever happen you?"

Timothy returned John's comment with a furious glare.

He'd endured more than his share of troubles at Hestia and well before he came here. He knew what John thought of him: a naive little kid, who once had it all, but Timothy didn't let these feelings show. He recognised when to pick his battles, and John wasn't someone to fight with. But it wasn't fear of retaliation that held Timothy back. It was something else, a sense of missing out, that if he angered John, he'd be left behind with the mundanity of Hestia. 

"Evans searched me." John huffed and leaned against a locker, crossing his arms. His anger was subsiding: John was as quick to fire up as he was to quiet down. "He found the switchblade and then searched some more."

"Are you ok?" Timothy asked tentatively. Who knew when John's anger would come flying back, and asking such a thing had proven harsh results before.

"Yeah…" John's stiff tone relaxed, and he glanced down, kicking his feet against the benches. "How… are the cats, I mean, um, are they ok?" John mumbled, and it surprised Timothy to see him become red-faced.

There was no apology, but Timothy figured that was the closest thing he was going to get.

"They're fine," Timothy said and smiled encouragingly. "You should see them now. They're getting pretty big."

"Maybe I will swing by again," John sniffed and wiped another bead of blood from his chin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't ask me how I keep managing to update all these fics with a full time job. You'll just jinx it :p 
> 
> Comments and your support are very much appreciated Xxx I love hearing from you <3
> 
> I have a **[Twitter @catbreathing](https://twitter.com/CatBreathing) and I'm always excited to chat on my **Tumblr ([heavybreathingcatt](http://heavybreathingcatt.tumblr.com/)).****
> 
> **   
**  
FWI: This fic is the prequel to [Sharing Your Shadow: Prisoner](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20812664/chapters/49471172). It was intended as one fic but I've separated them so you may choose to read the ark that interests you. Otherwise, I encourage you to read both at the same time. 
> 
> **[AthenasAspis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/agentandromeda/pseuds/AthenasAspis) is my amazing Beta reader. Kudos to her for improving this work in so many ways!**


	6. The Lessons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always this chapter was beta read by [AthenasAspis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/agentandromeda/pseuds/AthenasAspis) Kudos to her for improving my work time and time again.

There was something strangely endearing about watching Timothy play with the cats, and so John made an effort to visit Timothy and his bundle of fleabags a few times each week.

John found his usual spot on the crate and sat high above the family of felines as Timothy petted each and every one of them. They were used to John now, but he didn't want them crawling all over him, so he kept his distance.

"Don't let the Warden see them," John said quietly. He kicked his foot against the crate and the grey kitten pounced on his loose shoelace.

"Huh? What did you say?" Timothy looked up at him and blinked slowly.

John rolled his eyes. Few kids misheard him; his voice had a way of getting into people's heads, but seemingly not Timothy's.

" _ I said, _ don't let the dear, sweet Granny see them."

"Why?"

"Just don't," John stressed. He'd seen enough dead pets; his own cat was left on his bed, drowned, because he didn't change the sheets.

"Why does everyone call the Warden Granny? She's not very old looking."

"I dunno. The nickname was around even before I came here." John shrugged. "Grenta is her real name, well, actually Miss Grenta," John chuckled. "I don't blame anyone not wanting to marry that witch."

"She has a kind face."

"She's anything but kind," John warned.

He supposed Timothy was right; the Warden did have a kind face, the sort of a face a mother should have. Too bad she kept it scrunched up all the time as if there were a foul stench under her nose.

Timmy paused his ministrations with the ginger cat, and the thing meowed loudly for his attention. 

"Does the Warden have something to do with why Evans doesn't like you?" Timmy's round face looked up at him, almost pleadingly, just like the kitten at his feet.

"You ask a lot of questions."

John couldn’t shake the paranoia buzzing up his spine. His hands curled at his sides as he eyed Timothy carefully.

Was the kid trying to get dirt on him? Had the Warden recruited Timothy as one of her little spies?

John bit his tongue to silence his thoughts. His mind had a way of being intrusive, spilling darker thoughts when he was most angry. Timothy far simpler than he — what could Timothy possibly offer the Warden?

Timothy didn’t seem to notice John's inner conflict. The kid merely shrugged and returned to playing with the kitten.

"I'm just trying to work this place out," he said, and tickled the ginger kitten's cheeks. 

John had written Timmy off as a bit dimwitted, perhaps brain-damaged from whatever accident he'd been in. The kid was unbearably slow at picking up Hestias' routines: sleeping in a dorm, showering together, contraband searches, and sharing meals when things got rough.

But perhaps there was another reason.

"How many homes were you in before this?" John blurted out as soon as the thought occurred to him. 

"Homes?"

"Foster parents? Social Services?"

"I was at my dad's before this," Timothy replied slowly, arching a brow.

John frowned. No one came to Hestia without first going through the entire system. Hestia was where lost boys were sent when the world gave up on them: out of the public eye and out of mind. 

Hell, the Flynt twins had had so many foster parents they only referred to them by the street names they lived on. 

John was the only one in the dorm who hadn't been through a string of prisons, protective services and foster parents. He was dumped here personally by his mother, something the Warden took pride in reminding him at every chance. He was told that grief and the bottle had made his Mum unfit to look after him, but he didn't buy that.

John ran a hand over the hem of his shirt and toyed with the lockpick still hidden in place. It was only through sheer dumb luck that Evans hadn't found it when he searched him.

The lockpick was his only chance for answers: Who was his dad? And why did his mum need to leave him here? John wondered if Timothy had given his family any thought; he'd never spoken of them, did he have siblings?

"What happened to your dad?" John asked.

Timothy kept playing with the ginger cat, jerking the shoelace toy around for it to chase. John's jaw twisted as he waited for the kid to reply.

"OI! I'm talking to you —"

The siren rang, cutting off John's call.

"Down you go," Timmy whispered to the ginger kitten and placed it on the ground. The thing immediately tried to crawl back onto his lap, purring loudly. 

"Just leave it," John groaned, as Timmy succumbed to the kitten's demands and began to pat it again. 

The ginger one was so overly needy.

John stalked off, yet the small grey kitten tried to follow him. He outran it but stopped when he got to the tunnel. 

"You coming?" John yelled and looked over his shoulder. Timmy jogged up the alley to his side. The entire time, he had a bright smile on his face.

_ What a dope. _

He gestured for Timmy to go through the tunnel first. If the carers were waiting on the other side, at least he would have a chance to back out of the tunnel.

Timmy crawled through the drain and John shortly followed. The bell was (thankfully) still ringing when they made it to the other side. The two boys ran for the fence line: John held it back as Timothy crawled under, and once again, he went through last. Evans was in the yard rounding up the last of the kids. He didn't see where they had emerged from, but by the scathing glare, it would seem the carer knew they had been out of bounds. John and Timothy ran past, keeping close to the rest of the herd so as not to be picked off.

"Hey," John called breathlessly once they were inside the main hall. He held a hand to his chest. His heart ached, but it would pass.

"Are you ok? You look pale," Timothy asked and moved close to his side.

"I'm fine," John snapped and dropped the hand over his heart. "Look, you can use this, right?" He pulled out the lock pick from the hem of his shirt and held it forward.

"Yeah." Timothy warily eyed the small piece of metal. 

"Can you show me how?"

Timothy gawked as if John had just asked him out to prom.

"I asked you a question." John stepped closer, and Timothy backed into the wall, biting his lip

"Well, I don't need it anymore," he said and shyly shifted his gaze away from John's.

"Why?"

"I just wanted to learn how to unlock the dorm door at night, so I could…shower alone..."

"Unlock the dorm?" John broke away and laughed. "Come on, use your imagination. You could go anywhere with this!"

"Only if it's a mechanical lock. I'd need more tools for a digi-lock.

"Wait." John's eyes widen at the implication. "You can decrypt digi-locks too?!"

"Well,  _ not really. _ Not yet. My dad was teaching me."

"Tell you what. You teach me how to pick locks and I'll…" John trailed off.

He didn't have anything to offer the other kid. Usually, a few smokes would seal the deal, or John would just threaten the kid with violence. However, right now he didn't have the Flynts to back him up, and John didn't want the twins in on this deal, which left him back on option one.

"What do you want?"

" _ Want _ ?" Timothy shook his head, confusion making his eyes narrow.

"For the lessons," John sighed, "to learn how to pick locks, dum dum."

Timothy shrugged. "I don't want...anything really."

" _ Everyone _ wants something."

Timothy's face became so flushed that the freckles across his cheeks seemed to merge and disappear. 

John groaned and slapped the kid's shoulder.

"Just, get back to me on it, mmk pumpkin?"

"Pumpkin?"

"It's what you look like."

Red hair and a red face: Timothy looked ready to be carved out for Halloween. 

Timothy scowled and shrugged John's hand off his shoulder. 

"Don't call me that."

"Fine, fine," John laughed. "Just think on it, ok?"

Timothy chewed on his lip some more, before nodding back, and John had never grinned wider.

* * *

"You're standing too close," John growled and squared his shoulders.

"Let me see. I don't think you're doing it right."

"Just – give me a sec."

Timothy huffed and moved away, while John remained kneeling in front of the dormitory door, fumbling with the lockpick. 

Timothy hadn't told John what he wanted in exchange for the lessons, merely that he was happy to give them. John had given him a scrutinising glare and his strange bi-coloured eyes shone like gems. But, in the end, John agreed to Timothy's lack of terms.

So now, after lunch, Timothy snuck out first, and shortly afterwards, John would follow. This was their third lesson this week, and though John was an incredibly fast learner, he was not patient. 

"There!" Timothy shook John's shoulder. "You've almost got it. Twist the lock pick up now."

"Shut it, will you! Someone will find us," John snapped and jerked his shoulder out of Timothy's grasp.

Timothy rolled his eyes, and he couldn't help replying with a smug tone, "Since when do you care about being caught?"

John's ministrations with the lockpick slowed, and Timothy didn't miss the shiver that overcame the other boy. 

"Trust me," John hissed angrily. "You  _ don't _ want to get caught."

Timothy shifted closer and reapplied his hand to John's shoulder. He saw what Evans had done to John; his black eye may have healed, but it had once been an ugly green and yellow. John may think of him as stupid, but Timothy knew fear when he saw it.

"Are you ok?" Timothy asked, lowering himself down to John's level.

"What?!" John shoved him away and stood up. "Don't touch me. I'm fine."

"Sorry!" Timothy raised his hands defensively, "I just thought —"

"You're so freakin weird," John mumbled and pocketed the lock pick. "I'm done for today." 

"Oh, ok."

Timothy didn't know what he'd done wrong. John appeared tense, almost uncomfortable because of the mere fact they were even in the same hallway together. It wasn't unlike John to be dismissive of him when others were around. John was embarrassed to be with him, Timothy got that, but there was no one around, and so he didn't know why John couldn't drop the tough kid act. 

"Do you want me to go?" Timothy asked gingerly, and John scowled.

"No. Whatever." He became flustered and pushed past. "Let's get a smoke."

"But I don't smoke."

"You will."

* * *

They snuck off through the bent wire of the fence, and John kept watch while Timothy went first. This time, John didn't follow him to the cats. He walked with Timothy to the entrance of the tunnel but did not travel through it. At first, Timothy reasoned John wasn't one to get filthy, but he'd also seen him tackle a kid into the mud over a soccer ball, so that wasn't it. Perhaps he didn't want to wander so far from Hestia's? But that seemed just as unlikely.

All he knew was that John paled every time he stared at the entrance of the tunnel. Sometimes John found his courage and followed, but today was one of those days: he wasn't going to climb through. 

Was he scared of the dark? Confined places?

Timothy didn’t know, and he didn’t want to push his luck asking, not yet. 

Timothy went alone and whistled for the mum cat. She jumped down from crate to crate and called for her litter. The large ginger kitten ran straight for him and bounded into his arms. He'd named this one Crake, but hadn't told John that. John would tell him he was stupid for naming them.

Timothy didn't mind being alone; he was raised as an only child. However, with each and every passing lockpick lesson he wished he had told John what he really wanted in exchange for the training.

A friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not much writing has been happening in my end of world. Spent the last month house hunting (I got a house! close to work!), overwhelmed with stress and being bed ridden sick. But hopefully that will soon be behind me. When I finally move into my new place I'll gain 2 hours every day from a reduced commute time. Can't wait to spend some of that time writing again and getting back into regular posting.
> 
> In the mean time, thanks for being patient guys! Comments absolutely make my day X :3 
> 
> I'll have the next chapter of Prisoner AU with you soon. WAW will be a bit longer of a wait. 
> 
> FWI: This fic is the prequel to [Sharing Your Shadow: Prisoner](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20812664/chapters/49471172). It was intended as one fic but I've separated them so you may choose to read the ark that interests you. Otherwise, I encourage you to read both at the same time. 
> 
> As always this chapter was beta read by [AthenasAspis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/agentandromeda/pseuds/AthenasAspis) Kudos to her for improving my work time and time again.


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